


AKA 3 times Patricia Walker said "I love you" (and one time Jessica did)

by qrnrd



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, F/F, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-03 11:08:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5288432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qrnrd/pseuds/qrnrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Words come freely to Patsy Walker, even when they're not scripted for her. However, it's a harder to tell the most important person in your life that you love her when she is too cool for feelings, or whatever.</p><p>Or, Jessica is a lil emotionally distant moron that pretends she doesn't know, but she <strong>KNOWS<strong>.</strong></strong></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After the teen something something whatever awards

**Author's Note:**

> Before Killgrave, but after Trish and Jessica move out of Dorothy's reach. They're freshly 18 and I'm taking some leeway with Trish's loosely referenced drug problem. I just went with the cliche child star drug problem yada yada yada, but I suspect that wasn't the case? Who knows! ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Give me season two or give me death.
> 
> Thanks to [@Seven_tan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seven_tan/) for beta-ing.

_“And the award goes to Patsy Walker for_ Patsy Walker _!”_

Jessica watches Trish walk up to the stage to accept her award on the huge tv in Trish's apartment.

(Jessica also lives there, technically, but only ever calls it Trish's apartment.)

Jessica is sitting on the couch with two fingers of bourbon in a glass that cost probably as much as her wardrobe.  It's easy to come by booze and pretty much anything if you're underage when your roommate is a child star. For free to boot.

The audio is on, but Jessica isn't listening to Trish's acceptance speech. She's undoubtedly thanking all her obsessive fans that voted for Patsy Walker.

Trish told Jessica she wasn't going to use tonight, but Jessica isn't with her to make sure. Trish is going to the ceremony with some dumb, hot starlet. Some sort of PR move to make Trish Walker seem desirable and grown up. Jessica doesn't really know. Trish mentioned she had a date for the teen something something whatever awards and Jessica stopped listening and immediately started researching him.

_Trish can't keep hanging out with bad news guys for great PR._

She's scrutinizing Trish's mouth and eyes, still not listening to what she’s saying; perfectly enunciated words from years of acting classes, dialect coaches, and an overbearing stage mom. _Fuck, Trish. You said you wouldn't._

No one would be able to tell that Trish is high, and probably at least a little drunk. She can, though. Trish’s eyes (slightly out of focus and dilated) and the way she takes longer to shape her mouth to enunciate give her away.

Jessica passes out, curled up on the couch with another half a bottle of whiskey.

She is woken up abruptly by a slamming door, a low murmuring voice, and Trish’s melodic, yet stilted, laughter. She sits up and looks over the back of the couch. Trish is with what’s-his-name, and he’s touching Trish way too much. Trish stumbles in on too tall heels, made even more wobbly by the crap she’s taken.

“Nice night for a bender.”

Trish and pretty boy are both startled and look up. She props herself up on pretty boy and squints in the darkness towards Jessica’s voice.

Trish eventually slurs out, “Jessssssssss!”

Trish pushes off of her awards show date who is holding Trish up. He looks in the same state as Trish, if not worse. Without anyone propping her up, Trish staggers briefly before falling into her kitchen table. Shards of glass fly across the floor as a vase on the table hits the floor.

“Ooops! Feeling a little clumsy this evening,” Trish apologizes, still slumped over and giggling.

Jessica stands up and walks into the kitchen. Not again, Trish.

“That’s okay, babe,” the dumb guy is back, leaning heavily on the table and looking like an asshole, “It’s not a party until someone breaks a glass. Opa!” He staggers his way forward and grabs a glass from the table and smashes it on the ground.

“Well, I think the party is over, **machismo** ,” Jessica emphasizes, tone flat. She marches over, ignoring the glass that is embedding in her feet.

Meathead starts lewdly running his hands up and down Trish’s sides while looking into Jessica’s eyes, “No need to get jealous, baby, there’s enough Chad for everyone.” his voice is low, and it’s disgusting.

Jessica makes a rough noise and grabs his arm. She squeezes it quickly and tightly so that he twists away from Trish. He yelps, “Hey! Ow!”

She twists his arm, grabbing his opposite shoulder, and slams him into the wall face first. Probably using more strength than necessary. Sue me.

“I said party’s over, **Chad** ,” Jessica barks. Jessica marches him to the front door as he struggles weakly, opens it and shoves him out.

He looks at Jessica wide-eyed and shocked, “How did you—”

“Pilates,” She slams the door in his face with a loud bang.

He quickly starts banging on the door, yelling loud enough to be heard through the thick wood. She rolls her eyes, and heads back to the doorway picking up his tacky, trendy shoes from the foyer and roughly opening the door.

“What about my-” Dummy starts to open his mouth, but Jessica cuts him off again. She whips his shoes at his face one at a time, and they make a satisfying sound when they connect.

“Don’t call us, we’ll call you.”

The lock on the door clicks, and she turns back to the kitchen. She feels a sting from the glass again and bloody footprints now litter Trish’s pristine foyer. She’ll fix it later.

When she enters the kitchen again, Jessica can’t find Trish. _Fuck, where can you even hide in an open-concept apartment!_ She hears glass moving on the floor and walks around the table. Jessica sees Trish, now on way to the floor with an arm half slung over the seat of a kitchen chair to keep her upright. Trish shuffles, tries to stand, but her heels can’t get traction on the glass strewn floor.Her head lolls from side to side and her feet slide aimlessly on ground. There are small cuts on her legs and feet.

She grabs the bag of dumb guy’s drugs off the kitchen table and stuffs it in her pants’ pocket. Jessica crouches down next to Trish, and gently pushes her blonde hair out of her face. “It would almost be funny if it wasn’t so damn sad, Trish,” Jess says, quietly. She’s not sure if Trish can even hear her.

Trish rolls her head towards Jessica, her hair falls back in her face. “S’not my fault you hate all my boyfriends,” Trish retorts. Her speech is even, if slurred.

Jessica huffs, smoothing her hair back again. “It’s not my fault you date rocks with hair.”

Trish laughs way too hard at this, a breathy drunken giggle. “You mean, it’s not my fault that PR sets me up with rocks with hair.”

Almost defensively, Trish turns away from her and brings her arms in, but slips off the chair and falls completely on the floor. Trish’s limbs fold awkwardly beneath her, glass digging into her long legs.

Jessica slips one arm beneath Trish’s legs and cradles Trish’s head in the crook of her elbow. She slowly lifts Trish up, careful not to jostle her. Most of the glass doesn’t stick, and slips back to the ground. Jessica knows that Trish is about thirty minutes from puking for the rest of the night. Morning. Whatever time it is.

“Lift with your knees, Jess,” Trish mumbles into her shoulder, and Jess can feel her smirk at her own joke.

Blood from Trish’s legs drips down onto Jessica’s arm. Jessica rolls her eyes, “Let’s leave the sarcastic wit to me. You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

There’s a few more noncommittal noises from her, but nothing substantial. It doesn’t take a long time before Trish is completely passed out and softly snoring into Jessica’s chest. Jessica walks down the hall and turns the corner into Trish’s absurdly large washroom, sliding into the room sideways and gingerly avoiding Trish’s head from hitting the door jamb.

Jessica sets Trish down softly, but Trish still doesn’t rouse. The toilet seat makes a clunk as it smacks against the tank and Trish’s eyes shoot open, unfocused. She digs the drugs out of her pocket, holding it up to her face to have a look. _Tablets, probably ecstasy?_ She huffs, and Trish’s gaze swivels up to her face. The pills make little plinking noises as they hit the water.

“Hey! Those are mine,” Trish whines. She extends her arm weakly grabbing at the air in an attempt to stop her.

“Oops. Oh, well.”

She flushes the toilet and steps in front of the sink. Jessica opens the mirrored medicine cabinet and retrieves the first aid kit from the bottom shelf. Frustrated, she shuts the cabinet too forcefully, and the mirror cracks. A piece falls into the sink, causing Trish to snap her eyes open again.

“Jess, why’re you mad at me?” Trish whines again.

Jessica ignores her and flops down on the tile. She sits cross legged in front of Trish and drapes Trish’s leg over her lap, popping open the first aid kit with a snap. She grabs some alcohol wipes and tweezers, leaving the first aid kit open on the floor next to her.

“Jessssssssss,” Trish repeats.

There’s still a touch of a whine to her voice, but Jess shushes her. She begins removing the shards of glass from Trish’s leg with the tweezers and disinfecting the cuts. Trish is so high she doesn’t even notice the pain or seem to feel any discomfort.

“Jess,” Trish sing-songs, still trying to capture the attention of her roommate-cum-doctor.

Jessica doesn’t lift her head, but raises her eyes to give Trish a silent, stern look.

Trish ducks her head to get into Jessica’s line of sight again, “Jesssssss. C’mon,” she whines one last time.

It wouldn’t work normally, but Jessica’s gaze flickers back up to her and Trish gives her the 1000 watt smile that makes Jessica’s stomach do somersaults. That looks she gets when Trish wants to save the world.

(When Trish wants to save Jess.)

Jessica clears her throat and tries to hide the effect of Trish’s smile. It’s almost natural to harden her expression again, “You know why, Trish.”

“Jess, it’s just a bit of fun! Everybody does it.”

Jessica finishes placing bandaids on her cuts and gets up. “Oh my god, I think you’re becoming a rock with hair,” Jessica quips. She’s mad, certainly, but she can wait until Trish isn’t half passed out on her bathroom floor to talk with her about it.

She goes to the kitchen to get a glass of water for Trish. When she returns she sees Trish hunched over the toilet, trembling and retching. Jessica walks across the room and sits on the bathtub’s edge next to Trish, holding back her hair. With her other hand she rubs Trish’s back soothingly. At least Jessica thinks this is what would be soothing: they don’t ever touch like this when they’re sober or out of trouble.

When Trish is finished, Jessica smooths her hair down her back and hands her the water. Trish leans on the toilet and accepts the drink. She wipes her mouth with the base of her thumb, still holding the glass and slops water all over herself in the process. Trish takes a large gulp and makes a humming noise.

Jessica isn’t rubbing Trish’s back anymore and it feels wrong. She just wants to comfort her friend and help her stop hurting herself. Jessica doesn’t know what to do or why she’s still here, so she wraps her arms tightly around her torso.

“Hmm, Jess. Thank you. You are sweet and kind,” Trish murmurs, head resting on the toilet seat. She snorts at her own joke, “Actually you are sarcastic and grumpy, but you’re here for me.”

“Gee thanks, Trish.” Jessica stands up and moves to help Trish up.

“Noooooo. I want to stay. The floor is cold. and I might be sick again,” Trish moans while anchoring herself to the ground.

Almost on cue, Trish starts retching into the toilet again. Jessica takes her place on the tub’s edge again and holds Trish’s hair back. She lightly strokes Trish’s hair instead of her back this time.

“That feels nice,” Trish says while reaching out for Jessica’s knee. She squeezes it and rests her hand there. Jessica tenses, afraid to lean into the touch.

Trish’s eyes are closed and she’s resting her head in the crook of her arm atop the toilet seat. “Thank you,” Trish says quietly.

“I love you,” she says even more quietly.

Jessica pretends not to hear, but relaxes her leg. She keeps stroking Trish’s hair until she falls asleep slumped over the toilet seat.

* * *

When Trish wakes up she feels like a bag of shit. Jessica will say later that day that she looks like _two_ bags of shit.

She is disoriented from waking up on the floor of her bathroom, but there is a pillow under her head and a blanket tucked around her sides. She doesn’t remember anything after being offered three pills with a flute of champagne in the limo en route to the awards show.

Trish sits up too fast and is hit by a wave of nausea. She sits back, steadies herself, closes her eyes, and props herself up against the tub. Trish holds her face and wills herself not to puke.

The moment passes and her eyes snap open at the sound of a snore on her left. Trish turns to see Jessica asleep in the tub with a pillow and blanket, head cocked at an angle that cannot be comfortable. Jessica’s feet are resting on the edge of the bath, her body too long to fit in the tub.

Trish notices the bottoms of Jessica’s feet; covered in cuts and dried blood. Trish removes the blanket that’s tangled around her legs and notices the band aids carefully placed on her own legs.

“Oh no,” Trish utters to herself. She stands and turns to face Jessica, and touches her calf lightly.

 _You stayed here all night_ , Trish thinks. Her throat feels swollen at the thought.

“I don’t deserve you,” Trish whispers. She turns to the door and heads to the kitchen to start cooking breakfast.

Trish doesn’t know whether she won, but she doesn’t really care. Jessica feels better than winning.

Jessica cracks one eye open to see if Trish has fully left the bathroom. She closes her eye and falls back asleep.

**  
**  



	2. Jessica disappears without a trace, so Trish worries and worries and worries

Jessica is walking fast, brown paper bag filled with a mickey of whiskey tucked under her arm. Her head is tucked down and hands shoved in her coat pockets, trying to attract little attention. She is trying to get back to her shitty motel room as soon as possible.

(The most favourable Yelp review of the independently owned Hell’s Kitchen Budget Motel is 1 and a half stars. It reads, “It looks like someone was killed in every room. I checked. But you probably won't get murdered. Probably. It certainly is for the budget conscious.

A second review posted by the same person reads: Nevermind, I got tetanus from the shower. 1 star.)

She's doing the mental math on how fast she has to drink the small bottle of whiskey to get drunk. Jessica couldn't afford a bigger bottle because she was on her last $7.68. She can't even afford another night in the cheap motel.

_Whatever. I can break in if I have to._

Immediately after the accident Jessica sold the extravagant clothes Killgrave had bought her, gathered the money he controlled her into acquiring, and donated all the money to a women’s shelter. Without a word, she packed up and moved out of Trish’s apartment. She has been living off her meagre savings since.

She is so distracted by trying to divide her body weight by alcohol percentage over time, or whatever, that she doesn't hear someone calling her name. In the corner of her eye she spots a flash of blonde hair and cheeks red from the early evening chill.

“Jessica!” Trish yells again. She reaches out and lightly touches Jessica’s shoulder, “I was calling you, didn't you hear me?”

Trish, her brow furrowed with concern, looks at Jessica.

“No, sorry,” Jessica says without stopping or turning her head.

She jerks her shoulder down to pull away from Trish’s touch. She knows that her touch is all it will take for Jessica to move back in and put Trish back in danger by merely being in Jessica’s life. Trish stays in place trying to will Jessica to stop, which Jessica pointedly ignores. Stomping her foot, she huffs and jogs after Jessica’s quickly retreating figure.

“You've disappeared for weeks, and you're not even going to talk to me?” Trish is practically yelling after her, but she doesn’t so much as turn, “Why did you leave, Jess?”

She keeps walking, but can't shake the guilt gurgling in her stomach and bubbling up her throat like acid reflux. Jessica is burning in the inside at the thought of hurting Trish.

She stops so abruptly that Trish bumps into her. Jessica screws off the cap of the whiskey bottle and starts drinking from the paper bag.

Turning around, Jessica states, “If I’m going to have this conversation, I’ll need to drink.”

Trish gives her this pained look, which Jessica promptly ignores. She looks at the spot just above Trish’s head, and raises the paper bag to her lips.

“Cheers.”

“Please, Jess,” Trish’s voice cracks, “I’m only trying to help you.”

“The only help I need is from your much more tolerable cousin **Johnny** Walker,” Jessica informs while gesturing with the brown paper bag.

She turns and starts walking in the direction of her motel room. Trish jogs to keep up.

“Jessica–”

“How did you even find me?” she interrupts.

Trish avoids answering the question, “You’re not the only person who can use a computer, you know.”

_If I let Jess know how I found her, I may not be able to find her again._

Mouth full of whiskey, she swallows and comments, “That was a fantastic non-answer, Trish Walker.”

They arrive at the motel, and Jessica begins climbing the creaky metal stairs to the second floor. Trish follows suit, but falls a few steps behind. She can tell that Jessica is purposely walking faster in an effort to half-heartedly get away. The only sound in the motel parking lot are sirens in the distance and the echo of their shoes hitting the metal steps.

Breaking the silence, Trish implores, “If I tell you will you talk to me?”

Trish is willing to gamble her way of finding Jessica if it means getting her back. Getting Jessica home.

Jessica takes a deep breath and another swig as a response.

“I tracked the one credit card payment you’ve made a month ago at McGrath Buy-Rite Liquors. Then I just went around to all the motels in the area and bribed the front desks.”

Jessica turns around abruptly, “You bribed Ralph? I gave him a hundred bucks not to tell anyone I was here!”

With a blinding smile Trish confesses, “Well, I gave Ralph two hundred and a Patsy Walker autograph.”

Jessica can’t help but be a little proud. Except Trish is already a little smug. Instead, Jessica gives a textbook perfect eye roll, “Of course you did.”

Jessica sits at the top of the stairs and looks out at the parking lot. Trish sits beside her, purposefully not touching thighs despite the narrow staircase. Trish feels overly aware of her body; every cell of her body is pulling her towards Jessica and is tensing with the effort of sitting still, and keeping a careful distance.

The streetlights reflect off of the wet pavement and they can hear the sound of cars speeding through puddles. Trish almost forgets that everything is different; Jessica is hurting and fragile (but never broken), and Trish is sitting with her after a bad night. Like how Jessica sits her Trish after bad nights. _Sat with me_ , Trish corrects herself.

It feels like before Killgrave, and panic attacks, nervous breakdowns, and hiding from each other.

“There’s nothing I can’t handle, Jess. I would do anything to help you, you know that. What can I do?” Trish assures. She doesn’t want to startle Jessica, but she’s burning with the need to anchor herself to Jess.

It’s like going through the motions without Jessica.

In lieu of response Jessica chugs whiskey for as long as she can before needing to come up for air. Jessica can tell that Trish is is holding back words from the way her lips are pursed. She is keeping quiet to draw a response out of Jessica. An annoying trick she picked up from hosting her radio show.

“I know what you’re doing, Trish,” she wills her voice to not shake, “You can’t pull that radio host shit on me.”

Jessica continues avoiding Trish’s question and resumes chugging whiskey. Annoyed at Jessica’s greater than usual emotional distance, Trish snaps.

“I knew you had super strength, but I didn’t realize you had a super liver,” she nagged.

“Well,” Jessica sasses, “we’ll just have to find out.” She raises her eyebrows twice for emphasis.

Jessica gets to her feet and heads towards her motel room. Anticipating this, Trish rushes to stand, causing the stairs to creak. A man yells in the distance and it echoes through the streets.

Immediately, Jessica gets a panicked look in her eyes; her breathing becomes restricted and her body tenses. Trish hears the crack of glass beneath Jessica’s fingers, her whiskey bottle undoubtedly breaking.

Jessica frantically crosses the distance to her motel room. It takes her five long strides. She feels the panic attack coming and doesn’t even unlock the door. Jessica twists the doorknob too hard, and slams the door behind her. It rattles the door frame and the grimy window cracks. Jessica leans against the door and slides down to a sitting position on the floor, barricading the door shut with her back, and squeezing her eyes tightly shut. Her whole body is tense and seems out of her control, and she can feel bile rising thick and hot in her throat.

Frozen in a crouching position, Trish is hovering between sitting and standing. Her mouth is agape with a mix of surprise and concern. She quietly treads towards Jessica’s motel room and notices the doorknob is missing and only a hole where it used to be remains. Trish crouches and puts her eyes to the door, but only sees light reflecting off of floating dust particles.

Through the door she can hear Jessica’s laboured breathing and frantically mumbling, “Birch Street, Higgins Drive, Cobalt Lane...Birch Street, Higgins Drive, Cobalt Lane...Birch Street...Higgins Drive...Cobalt Lane.”

Trish softly calls her name, “Jess.”

Unable to reach out to Jessica, she puts one hand on the door and feels the weather roughened wood on her hand. She steadies herself with her free hand on dirty ground. Trish can hear Jessica’s breathing slow, and the mumbling stops. Her panic attack slowly subsiding, Jessica opens her eyes and looks down.

She notices the doorknob in her hand, ripped from the door in her haste to retreat to relative safety. It’s crushed and misshapen under her incredible grip. Jessica throws it across the room, lodging it into the drywall. Ignoring the broken glass, Jessica recklessly raises her whiskey bottle to her lips and drinks. She strains the whiskey with her teeth to catch any glass particles. She limply sets the bottle down, still clutching it tightly, and roughly rubs the top of her head, pulling her hair to prevent her from disassociating.

“Jess, he can’t hurt you anymore,” Trish whispers through the door.

Jessica stops supporting her head and lets it fall heavily against the door. Her eyes fall shut and she mutters, “He already hurt me, Trish,” her voice cracking on Trish’s name.

Trish bites her bottom lip and feels her eyes well up without her consent. This is worse than the shakes from withdrawals, her mother’s fingers down her throat, and coming home to an apartment with Jessica’s few belongings gone. Worse than all of those things combined.

Trish fits as much of her hand through the doorknob hole, which ends up being three fingers. Jessica hears the door creak and turns her head in the direction, head still resting on the door. She reaches her hand up to meet Trish’s and holds her immaculately manicured fingers in her own hand. They stay like that, not quite holding hands, for a long time. Neither of them keeping track of the time.

Trish breaks the silence eventually, sniffing, “I can take care of you, Jess.” It’s a murmur through the door, muffled and near silent.  

Jessica pretends she doesn’t hear and takes another swig of whiskey. She slowly lets go Trish’s fingers to wipe the dripping whiskey from her mouth (and the blood from where she cut her mouth on the broken bottle). Jessica closes her eyes again, too tired to rub any tears out of her eyes. Trish stands moments later, hands on her knees to balance herself. She fishes out of her coat pocket the mail addressed to Jessica, but mistakenly sent to their apartment.

 **** _My apartment_ , Trish corrects herself.

She curls the envelope and shoves it inside the hole in the door. She carefully places it far enough so that it doesn’t fall through the other side.

“I love you,” Trish implores. She pauses, hoping for a response, “You have my number.”

Leaning against the door, Jessica repeats her mantra, “Birch Street, Higgins Drive, Cobalt Lane,” until she falls asleep. She doesn’t know what time Trish leaves.

* * *

 Jessica wakes up with a stiff neck, slumped against the door. She leans her torso forward, her head lolling forward with the momentum. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Jessica looks around to get a sense of her surroundings. She notices her whiskey bottle, empty from whiskey leaking through the cracks onto the brown, musty carpet.

Jessica sighs, and places a hand on the door to push herself into a standing position. Noticing the envelope jammed through the hole where the doorknob usually is, Jessica grabs it and stuffs it roughly into her jacket pocket. She assumes it’s a bill, or a notice, or something from the motel since her payment is now overdue.

She brushes her fingers through her hair while exiting the room. She heads down the stairs and heads towards the liquor store again. Unfortunately, it’s the same cashier as last night and he is definitely judging Jessica. She undoubtedly smells and is wearing the same clothes as last night, frumpy and wrinkled from sleeping in them.

She places the bottle on the counter along with a wad of bills and pocket change. The cashier gives her a look before stating, “You’re short 43 cents.”

“Awe, fuck,” Jessica remarks.

She desperately scrambles, searching her coat pockets for change. She pulls out the envelope, sets it on the counter, and continues fishing for change. She finds a dollar bill and slaps it on the checkout.

The cashier slides the bottle and her change across the counter while sarcastically jeering, “Don’t enjoy it all at once.”

Jessica gives him her best glare while grabbing the change, the bottle, and her crumpled envelope. While exiting the store, she places the envelope in her mouth to free up her hand to open the bottle. It makes a hearty crack when it opens, and the tang from the cheap booze stings her nose almost immediately.

She takes the envelope out of her mouth, and takes a hearty gulp while glancing at her mail. Jessica’s pupils dilate with excitement when she notices the envelope’s return address. Shoving the open bottle under her arm, she rips open the letter.

It’s the private investigator’s license she applied for before Kil–before **_him_**. When Trish had convinced her that maybe she could help people even though she’s never been able to help herself.

Not taking her eyes off of her P.I. license, she takes another swig of whiskey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and comments! Wicked cool. I probably won't be able to update for a while because I have an essay due that I wrote exactly 0 words for (but you guys get 2305 of fic instead, so no regrets).
> 
> Thanks to [@Seven_tan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seven_tan/) for beta-ing.


	3. After they win (but it still feels like losing)

Jessica is physically and mentally exhausted from killing Killgrave and dealing with the fallout at the police precinct. She gave Malcolm strict orders not to wake her because she “needed to sleep for about a million years.” Malcolm spent all day answering the phone and tidying Jessica’s all but destroyed apartment.

Accidentally having become a P.I. secretary, Malcolm has been taking calls and making notes on potential cases for Jessica while she slept and snored all evening. It was 3AM and Malcolm was still hunched over Jessica’s desk with pen and paper, Jessica’s cell phone wedged between his ear and shoulder while frantically taking notes. Her voicemail was already full, and Malcolm could not keep up.

At this point, Malcolm was alternating between taking notes about voicemails and taking messages of the new calls. Malcolm’s hair was matted where he has been stressfully rubbing his head all night, but he was so excited to be helping people again that he didn’t feel fatigued.

As the phone rings, Malcolm stops writing and grabs the phone from between his ear and shoulder to answer the call. Without looking at the caller ID, he answers and repeats for the umpteenth time that night, “Alias Investigations, how can we help you?”

“Jess?” the confused voice on the other end asks.

“No, this is Malcolm. I’m Jessica’s,” he pauses, struggling to the find the word, “assistant.”

“Oh, hi Malcolm,” the voice quietly says, heavy with disappointment. “It’s Trish.”

“Oh, hi Trish,” he greets, “Sorry I didn’t check the caller ID.”

“I half expected Jessica’s phone to be dead, so,” Trish jokes, smiling fondly.

Malcolm chuckles, “You and me both. So can I do anything? Jessica is sleeping right now and told me not to wake her up under threat of death.”

“Oh, sorry. It is late. Sorry, I just,” Trish rambles her voice already cracking as she tries not to cry.

Malcolm gently interrupts, “Are you okay?”

Trish dabs at the tears collecting in the corner of her eyes and blinks hard, long blinks, willing the tears to stop. “I’m sorry, I needed to talk to Jess. It’s fine though.”

Malcolm senses that this isn’t something he can help with so he offers, “I can wake Jessica up, it’s ok. I can take her. Probably.”

“No, don’t!” Trish says, “She needs the rest. She’s been through so much.”

Malcolm doesn’t accept this answer, since he knows in his gut that Jessica would murder him for not waking her up if Trish is on the other end of the phone. He starts walking towards Jessica who is passed out on the bed, her figure concealed under layers of blankets.

“It’s ok, she’s right here,” Malcolm says.

“No it’s fine,” Trish emphasizes.

Malcolm lightly nudges what he assumes Jessica’s shoulder, trying to wake her as gently as possible whispering, “Hey, Jessica.”

Trish hangs up upon hearing Malcolm begin waking up Jessica.

Malcolm hears the dial tone and looks at the phone, the screen now blank. He sighs and continues waking Jessica.

“Jessica,” he says a little louder while pushing her shoulder, “Wake up.”

Jessica’s reply is to groan loudly for ten seconds.

“Jessica,” he repeats.

Sighing, Jessica mumbles, “This better be important.”

She pulls the blankets down from her face, and props herself up on her elbow.

“What time is it even?” Jessica questions irritably.

“It’s 3AM, but–“

“3 AM,” Jessica interrupts and whines, “I told you I needed to sleep for a million years.”

“I know, I’m sorry but Trish called,” Malcolm explains.

Jessica stops, and her blood runs cold before remembering that Killgrave can’t hurt them any longer.

“Why didn’t you lead with that,” Jessica snaps, fully sitting up now

“I tried to,” Malcolm says, exasperated.

“Did she say what’s wrong?” Jessica asks while pulling on her boots, carelessly discarded before crawling into bed earlier.

“No, but she seemed upset,” Malcolm says, “she said she needed to talk to you.”

“Trish was upset?” Jessica asks.

“I think so. She hung up, didn’t want me to wake you.”

Jessica picks up her leather jacket from the floor, and pulls it on slowly, as her ribs still sting.

“Ok. Thanks, Malcolm,” she says while walking to the front door, grabbing her keys off of her desk on the way.

“Ok should I just lock–” the door slams, signalling Jessica’s departure, “up,” Malcolm finishes.

He sighs heavily, closes his eyes, and squeezes the bridge of his nose. He notices the phone in his hand and sits back at the desk and begins listening to Jessica’s voicemails again.

 

* * *

 

Sitting on her couch in the dark, Trish listens to all the noises from the outside trickling in. She is anxiously fiddling with her hands, the trauma from the day sinking in and leaving her motionless and terrified. She spent the better part of the afternoon obsessively brushing her teeth and swishing mouthwash in her mouth to try to remove the feel and taste of Killgrave kissing her.

he is surrounded by the boxes of files her mother sent over, but Trish can’t bring herself to read them. Instead she listens intently and flinches at every car horn and loud barking dog.

When she hears a knock from the balcony she snaps her head and panics, but is relieved when she recognizes Jessica’s silhouette, hands stuffed in her coat pockets, leaning on the balcony door jamb.

Trish pads to the balcony and lets Jessica in, quickly closing and locking the door behind her.

“What’s with all the boxes?” Jessica questions.

Trish gestures at the boxes and explains, “My mother sent me all the files about your accident and medical bills. I’m trying to get to the bottom of how you got your powers.”

Jessica smirks and looks into the corner of the room, “You never give up, do you, Trish Walker?”

Jessica can never look directly at Trish while complimenting her, or talking about her feelings. Except, well, earlier.

Trish tries to smile, but it is forced and the overwhelming sense of panic starts painfully squeezing Trish's lungs and heart again.

Jessica immediately steps closer to Trish and touches her arm soothingly.

“Trish, what’s wrong?” she whispers.

“I’m so sorry,” Trish pants, rubbing her eyes with both hands, “I didn’t mean for this.”

“Mean for what?” Jessica asks, “You can tell me anything, Trish?” 

Trish feels stupid now for sharing how angry and scared she feels after being forced to kiss Killgrave. Especially when Jessica  dealt with far worse.

“Trish,” Jessica prompts again.

“I’m sorry, it’s so insensitive of me. I just feel so out of control and used after–after–"

“After him,” Jessica finishes, looking at Trish with understanding, “I understand, you can tell me.” 

“No, I can’t! I shouldn’t even feel this way! You’ve been through so much worse. I’m sorry...I’m awful.”

“Someone smart once told me that it’s not a competition.”

“I feel so helpless and weak. I feel like a puppet again,” Trish explains. She would never forget the loss of control she felt when her mother used her as a Patsy Walker marionette.

“I know,” Jessica sympathizes, moving her hand from resting on Trish’s arm to rubbing her upper back.

Trying to make the panic subside, Trish lowers her head into her hands and breathes long and slow. The only thought in her mind is about how much she wants to use; how much easier it would be to use.

When Trish's breathing returns to normal Jessica pulls Trish into her arms and holds her silently in the dark, her chin resting on the top of Trish’s head.

"How do you do it?" Trish whispers into Jessica's chest, "How do you deal with this everyday?"

Jessica responds with her go-to sarcastic quip, "I wasn't lying when I said whiskey helps."

She can feel Trish clench her jaw against her collarbone, and immediately knows that keeping Trish at an arm's length emotionally is easy, but not what Trish needs. _This isn't what Trish deserves._

"Honestly?" Jessica sighs, "You helped. You help still."

She can feel Trish lift her head, trying to catch a glimpse of Jessica's face while she speaks. Jessica doesn't loosen her hold on Trish or move to give Trish a better view, because it's always easier not to look. Looking at Trish is like looking at the sun; Jessica feels her blood warm, but also like she might go blind.

"You never gave up or stopped believing that I could be better."

Trish isn't sure whether Jessica means she could feel better again or be a better person. Quite frankly, Jessica doesn't know either.

"You let me hide away and hurt, and waited for me."

Trish scoffs and rests her head on Jessica's shoulder again.

Jessica feels her face get hot, embarrassed by her feelings and Trish's reaction to them. "What's so funny?"

"Do you really think I waited around and let you pickle your liver without keeping track of you?"

She knew that Trish kept tabs on her after she left, but Jessica never considered to what degree.

She pulls away, holding Trish an arm’s length away by the shoulders.

Looking directly into Trish’s eyes, Jessica puzzles, “Wait, how much information did you keep on me?”

Trish flushes and pulls away. She walks around her kitchen island and leans on the counter with both arms wide open. Trish is trying to put physical distance between them; they’ve never been the friends that hold each other with light touches or whispered confessions about how they make each other stronger. Trish can’t bear to be in Jessica’s arms while she ruminates on just why she had to keep track of Jessica.

Jessica walks over the the counter and mirrors Trish’s position, arms stretched out and leaning forward. Avoiding eye contact, Trish’s eyes dart to Jessica’s hands (knuckles scraped from days’ worth of fighting).

Jessica dips her head into Trish’s line of sight and widens her eyes to goad an answer to her question.

Trish rolls her eyes and answers, “Your phone number, address, job. Stuff like that.”

Jessica squints at Trish, sensing she probably knew more than she is letting on.

“How did you find ‘stuff like that?’” Jessica asks, eyebrow cocked.

Trish turns around under the pretext of getting a glass of water and answers under her breath.

“Didn’t catch that,” Jessica chides.

“I hired a private investigator,” Trish whispers, the irony not lost on her.

A shit-eating grin grows on Jessica’s face, as she lets out an enthusiastic chuckle.

Trish turns around and places the glass of water on the counter. She folds her arm into the crook of her elbow and places an index finger across her lips, trying to suppress a smile. Betraying her resolve, Trish’s lips slowly smirk beneath her finger at the sight of Jessica’s contagious smile.

They stand there silently looking at each other while the refrigerator quietly hums in the background, neither wanting to break the silence.

Jessica eventually breaks the silence, noticing that Trish’s is exhausted by the way Trish’s eyes crinkle in the corner the same way as when they were teens.

Leaning back, Jessica removes her hands from the counter and stuffs them back in her coat pockets. “You should get some sleep. Staying awake won’t help,” Jessica assures.

Trish move her hand from her mouth to rub the knot in her neck.

“I tried. I don’t think I can,” she pauses, “I keep dreaming about–”

Trish doesn’t finish her sentence, but Jessica didn’t need to hear the second part to know.

“Then we can stay up,” Jessica offers. “We don’t have to talk.”

“No, Jess. You don’t have to stay. I’m being foolish,” Trish objects.

“It’s fine.”

“No, you’re more exhausted than I am, so you–”

“I want to,” Jessica interrupts.

Shocked, Trish’s mouth hangs open. “Oh. Ok.”

Her mouth suddenly dry, Trish takes a sip from her water glass. Jessica starts walking towards the couch, ready to sit silently for the rest of the morning alongside Trish. Trish follows, but turns towards her bedroom as Jessica turns towards the couch. Realizing the other person wasn’t there, they both spin around.

Trish leans against the doorway and questions, “Are you coming?”

“Oh, I assumed you’d want to sit on the sofa,” Jessica explains.

“We might as well both be comfortable,” Trish states, shrugging.

Jessica nods her head and follows Trish into her bedroom. Trish places the water glass on the bedside table and takes off her sweater. Jessica sees the bright purple bruises patterning Trish’s arms and back from the fight earlier.

Jessica feels her heart clench and her blood boil with the need to protect Trish. Her first instinct is to leave and shield Trish from the shitstorm that follows her everywhere, but she doesn’t need to stay away from Trish anymore. She has to keep reminding herself the Killgrave is gone, and she is no longer risking Trish. Now, protecting Trish means being near her, thank god. Jessica doesn’t have to chip away at what little happiness she has left anymore.

Jessica sits at the foot of the bed and bends to remove her boots, but groans when her ribs throb from moving too quickly. Trish notices instantly and twists around.

“What hurts?” Trish asks while bending at the waist to be eye level with Jessica, gently touching her knee.

“Nothing,” Jessica grunts, gritting her teeth.

Always perceptive of Jessica, Trish notices that she is leaning to one side and that her breaths are shallow.

“It's your ribs, isn't it?” Trish observes.

“Come on, let me see.”

Jessica moves the open flap of her jacket aside, allowing Trish to lift her shirt and investigate the source of Jessica’s discomfort.

Trish slowly lifts the shirt up, exposing the bottom of Jessica’s bra, but she purposefully does not look at it or at Jessica’s face. She spots the sickly green and yellow bruises that cover most of Jessica’s side. Trish gently reaches out to touch Jessica’s side, causing her to flinch and inhale sharply.

Trish tuts, “So much for healing quickly.”

“Hey, I’m still healing faster than you would,” Jessica says defensively. “Besides it only started hurting an hour ago.”

Trish lowers Jessica’s shirt, straightens up, and heads out of the bedroom.

“You probably didn’t notice because of the adrenaline,” Trish shouts from the kitchen.

Jessica hears her rummaging around in the kitchen. She gingerly removes her jacket, wincing as she does, and tosses it on the floor. Jessica looks around Trish’s bedroom, noticing the subtle, tasteful changes Trish has made; Jessica hasn’t been in Trish’s room in months.

There is a new throw rug and duvet cover, and Trish has replaced a picture of them on the wall with a tasteful print. The picture was of Jessica and Trish at Trish’s 18th birthday party (where the were celebrating escaping Dorothy more than Trish’s birthday), their faces squished together smiling and laughing. Jessica’s heart pangs at the thought of Trish getting rid of the photo.

Trish enters the room again with an ice pack wrapped in a hand towel and a tumbler filled with two fingers of whiskey. She silently hands the ice pack to Jessica and holds out the whiskey. Jessica gratefully takes the ice pack and places it on her side, tensing at the cold. Trish flips her hand and opens her palm to reveal an advil.

Jessica gives a half smile and takes the painkiller with the hand not holding the ice pack, and pops it into her mouth. She then grabs the tumbler of whiskey and swirls the amber fluid in the glass. Jessica takes a mouthful and tilts her head back to help the pill down when she swallows.

She clears her throat and adds, “Thanks.”

She begins trying to kick off her boots, making an effort bend over without jostling her side or spilling the whiskey onto Trish’s expensive comforter. Trish rolls her eyes and kneels in front of Jessica, beginning to unlace her boots.

“Don’t mention it.”

Warmth starts pooling in Jessica’s stomach at Trish kneeling in front of her, which she tells herself is _just_ the whiskey.

“You took down the picture,” Jessica comments, nodding towards the print now on the wall, and takes another sip.

Trish follows her line of sight and nods, “Yeah.”

She finished unlacing one boot and gently removes the boot by the heel, Trish’s other hand bracing the back of Jessica’s calf.

Jessica lifts her other foot to help Trish, “Why?”

Trish stares intently at her fingers as she unlaces Jessica’s boot, “It was too hard looking at it everyday after you left.”

A lump grows in Jessica’s throat, her guilt still not assuaged from leaving a year ago. Even if it was for Trish’s own good. She downs the rest of the whiskey in one go.

“I’m sorry about that. Still.”

Trish removes Jessica’s other boot and looks up at Jessica, her golden hair falling out of her face.

“I know,” she says smiling sadly.

Jessica flops backwards into the bed and gracelessly the glass on the bedside table where it tips dangerously before settling.

Trish puts her hands on her waist and cocks her hip. “Jessica Jones, if you think that you are lying in my bed in those dirty jeans you’ve worn all week you wrong,” Trish threatens.

“Ugh, fine,” Jessica whines and begins unbuttoning her pants and shimmying them down her hips, still lying down.

Trish watches her for a moment before helping. She grabs the top of Jessica’s jeans, now at the top of her thighs, while Jessica lifts her butt off of the bed to try to give Trish more leverage. Trish pulls them off and defiantly places Jessica’s jeans in the laundry hamper, staring Jessica down as if daring her to complain.

Jessica rolls her eyes and smirks. Trish walks around to the other side of the bed and lays on her back. Jessica rolls onto her good side and absentmindedly starts playing with a lock of Trish’s hair that is splayed out on the pillow like a halo. Trish rolls over to face her and watches as Jessica loops Trish’s hair around her finger. She looks calmer than she has in a year, her face finally relaxed and looking like the Jessica Trish has known since she was a teen.

“You were right,” Trish admits.

“Hmmm?” Jessica hums.

“This helps. You help.”

Jessica closes her eyes and hums in agreement.

“Thanks, Jess,” Trish says. “I love you.”

Eyes still closed, Jessica freezes and stops playing with Trish’s hair. Jessica feels her heart hammering against her ribcage, and goosebumps start decorating her arms and the sliver of stomach that is exposed from her shirt riding up. Jessica nods and shifts closer so that their limb ghost each other, barely even touching.

They lie there silently until they both fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

When Jessica wakes up there is a new, clean pair of jeans hanging over the chair in Trish’s room. She searches the room for Trish until she notices a note leaning on a thermal coffee mug on the bedside table. Jessica picks up the note and notice the key under it.

The note in Trish’s elegant handwriting reads:

 _Had to go to work. Thanks again, Jess. Lock up with the spare key if you need to go. -_ _T.W._

Jessica sits up and sips the coffee, still warm from this morning and made exactly how she likes it.

She gets up and dressed, the jeans somehow fitting perfectly, and locks the front door with the coffee in hand. Jessica starts heading to her apartment, ready for a day of interviewing new clients.

Jessica returns to Trish’s apartment in the evening after work, unprompted. Trish smiles her million watt smile and doesn’t even ask for the key back.

When they enter Trish’s bedroom to sleep (“You can't sleep on the couch, Jess,” Trish insists), Jessica notices the photo of them from Trish’s 18th birthday back on the wall.

 ****  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to mayacricket for betaing. Sorry that this chapter took so much longer to get out. I haven't had time to write because of end of semester assignments. There will be a fourth chapter now (oops) because I didn't anticipate this chapter being as long as it is, and figured it would be best to break it up.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading, commenting, and the kudos! Add me on tumblr and please send me your Trishica meta and headcanons. I can't get enough Trishica in my life. qrnrd.tumblr.com


	4. The time after the first time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka After Trish burns dinner, but before they order in

Jessica unlocks the front door to Trish’s apartment and is welcomed by the smell of Trish cooking dinner. She dumps her keys alongside Trish’s in the bowl on the foyer side table. Jessica kicks off her boots and leaves them haphazardly on the floor.

“Hey!” Trish shouts, “I'm in the kitchen.”

Jessica pads into the kitchen and slumps into a chair at the island.

“Rough day?” Trish asks as she cuts a pepper.

“I lost my target because someone recognized me and bugged me for a selfie.”

It's been three months since Jessica snapped Killgrave’s neck like a brittle twig, and she is still not used to her newfound status as a folk hero.

She has spent the past two weeks tracking down a particularly slimy trust fund kid who has skipped out on his child support.

Jessica grabs the tumbler of whiskey that Trish poured when she heard Jessica come in off the counter and downs the whole glass. She grabs the bottle and pours herself three fingers of whiskey and drinks half of it immediately. Trish doesn't tolerate drinking from the bottle, so she tries to control herself.

“I'm sorry,” Trish offers.

“It's ok. Malcolm is searching his Twitter or something to pick up the trail again. Anyways, what's for dinner?”

Trish doesn't look up from what she is doing, “Stir Fry.”

Jessica wrinkles her nose and groans in distaste.

“Don't be a baby. I didn't put any tofu or ‘stupid healthy crap’ in it.”

Jessica smiles and takes another sip.

“But I'm using cabbage instead of noodles.”

“Yuck,” Jessica grumbles into her glass.

Trish is still focused on cutting vegetables, but raises her eyes to stare Jessica down, “If you don't eat your vegetables you won't grow up big and strong.”

Rolling her eyes, Jessica smirks despite her annoyance at Trish’s sarcasm.

They've fallen into this daily routine since the night Killgrave died. Jessica has spent every night at Trish’s, except for the nights Jessica is working a case, out all-night on stakeouts. Even on those nights Jessica still stumbles into Trish’s apartment, a plate of dinner covered in tinfoil waiting for her in the fridge. If Trish hasn’t left for work yet, Jessica will sleepily eat the leftovers while Trish eats her breakfast (the same thing everyday: one black coffee, one-half grapefruit, and some granola).

If Jessica comes home after Trish has left for the day, she’ll flop into bed with her clothes on, on top of the covers, and wake up with a throw blanket on top of her and tucked into her sides. 

Out of Jessica’s earshot, Malcolm now refers to her apartment as the office. (Not that he’s complaining, living next door to work is as convenient as it gets.)

“So I was thinking,” Trish starts, “about repainting the living room. What do you think?”

“Sure, it's your apartment.”

Trish bristles and noticeably stiffens. As often as they spend nights loosely curled around each other, talking one another through nightmares of moments when their bodies were not their own, Jessica spends twice as much time pretending that it doesn't happen at all.

Jessica is committed to her role, a method actor playing her part; only here for dinner and emotional support, and that's it. She’s conveniently ignoring that she hasn't slept at her apartment since the night Trish called, except for the occasional nap at her desk when she’s too hungover to even lift her head. But there’s been few of those days since she has started staying at Trish’s.

Jessica forgets to drink until she blacks out when she’s with Trish, instead she only drinks until the whiskey warms her insides and makes the casual touches between them come that much more easily.

Jessica can sense that Trish tensed at her response. She remembers that Trish cares about crap like colours and decor and tries to back peddle.

Tracing the rim of her tumbler, Jessica asks, “So, uhh, what colour were you thinking?”

Trish continues chopping vegetables before scraping them off the chopping board into a searing hot pan. They make a satisfying sizzle when they make contact with the hot oil.

Trish turns back to the counter and begins cutting cabbage into long strips. “Since when do you care about how I decorate _my apartment_.”

Jessica’s eyes snap towards Trish, surprised. She bites her tongue to stop the sarcastic barb that springs to her mind.

Unimpressed, Trish purses her lips, only raising Jessica’s hackles more. Jessica didn't want to fight, but Trish is prodding all her buttons and Jessica is too tired to ignore the drunk voice in her head telling her to fight back. 

“So not green then,” Jessica snarks, dropping the pretense of only drinking a little. She fills the glass to the top with whiskey.

Trish begins chopping carelessly, taking out her anger on the already decimated cabbage. Jessica rolls her eyes and chugs even more whiskey, tilting her head back and downing the contents of her glass, eyes glaring up at the ceiling.

“Shit!” Trish hisses.

Jessica hears the knife clatter to the counter. She snaps her head down immediately and sloshes whiskey down her front. She holds the dripping glass away from her body and wipes the liquid off her chin. Her eyes dart to the knife on the counter with blood decorating its blade, before her eyes drift up to Trish clutching her hands and grimacing in pain.

“Are you okay?” Jessica's irritation falls away and is replaced with worry. She sets her glass down on the counter.

“I just cut my finger.”

Jessica leans across the island to grab Trish’s hand and investigate her cut. Trish jerks out of Jessica’s reach and grabs a clean dishcloth off the counter.

“I’m fine, Jessica,” she snaps while pressing the dishcloth to her cut. Blood starts blooming slowly on the dishcloth, and Trish raises her hands to her chest, holding them there.

Jessica huffs while standing up. She walks around the island and stands in front of Trish who is looking intently at her own hands.

“You make me so **mad** ,” Trish emphasizes.

Jessica moves towards Trish, “Let me look at it, please.”

“No. We’re fighting and I’m angry with you.”

“What? You’re mad that I don’t care what colour you paint your apartment? That’s ridiculous,” Jessica defends.

“No, Jessica! I’m mad that you pretend you don’t basically live here,” Trish turns away, eyes downcast and frowning.

Staring at Trish’s back in shock, Jessica responds, “What–Live here–I don’t–”

“No, you only sleep and eat here every single night.”

“Trish, I–”

“I get it. You only stick around when I need a hero or if I need saving, but I thought things would be different now. There’s no one you need to protect me from, so you could move back in… And you finally said it.”

Jessica takes a long deep breath, “Said what?”

“Something you never say,” Trish whispers.

Jessica shifts her weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable at the honesty that Trish is asking of her. “I did.”

Trish slowly turns to face Jessica, “But you still won’t say it now.” She clutches her hands tighter to her chest.

Jessica self-consciously flits her gaze between Trish’s hands and green eyes, unable to maintain eye contact. She raises her own hands to lightly clasp Trish’s and waits silently. Trish slightly relaxes her hands into Jessica’s, and nods her silent approval.

Jessica slowly lowers Trish’s hand and begins unwrapping the dish towel to reveal the long, but shallow cut that has stopped bleeding. “It’s not deep, but we should clean it.”

“Did you mean it or was it just a codeword?”

Head still tilted towards Trish’s hands, Jessica slowly raises her eyes to meet Trish’s gaze.

Jessica takes a slow, deep breath, “I meant it.”

“Why can’t you say it now?” Trish asks, her eyes watering.

Jessica gently caresses the wound and moves away from Trish. She leans on the counter with elbows propping her up, but doesn’t answer.

“Why are you always distancing yourself from me?” Trish pleads stepping in front of Jessica.

Looking at the stucco ceiling, Jessica sighs, “It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple, Jessica. Move back in. We can put your room back and take out the home gym. I love you.”

Trish holds her breath waiting, hoping, for an answer.

Jessica snaps her head down. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because _I love you_.”

“I love you too,” Trish smiles vulnerably, eyes crinkling in the corner.

“No, Trish. You don’t get it,” Jessica gestures frantically with her hands, “I fucking _love_ you. I. _Love._ You.”

Trish gets wide-eyed as Jessica continues, bold because of whiskey drunk too quickly on an empty stomach, “It’s like I’m choking when I get too close, so it has to be like this. I love you, so this has to be enough. I can’t handle a life without you again, and I can’t scare you away because you can’t love me like that.”

Jessica’s arms hang limply at her sides and she struggles to breathe, feeling like someone has punched her in the heart. She feels hands pushing against her shoulders and falls back against the counter, bracing herself with her elbows.

“You _idiot_ ,” Trish asserts, tears welling in her eyes, closing the distance between them.

Trish crashes her whole body into Jessica, her arms wrapping around Jessica’s neck and hands tangling through her hair. Before she can even process what’s happening, Jessica's vision is filled with blonde hair and Trish’s lips are on hers.

Jessica is slow to react and is simply kissed by Trish for a moment, eyes hooded, but not shut and arms held stiffly at her sides. Her brain catches up with what is happening, Jessica closes her eyes and slowly lifts her arms to holds Trish’s waist.

Jessica, dizzy from the heady scent of Trish’s hair and skin, parts her mouth in disbelief. Taking this as invitation, Trish swipes her tongue along Jessica’s bottom lip and tastes the sharp bite of whiskey. Lost in the feel of Trish’s mouth on hers, Jessica’s mouth opens further, deepening the kiss. She unconsciously strokes Trish’s stomach in slow gentle circles with her thumbs, hands still grasping her waist. Trish hums into Jessica’s mouth, and Jessica feels warmth and desire pool in her stomach. Her chest feels tight, and Jessica realizes she forgot to breathe.

They break apart, panting, and search each other’s faces. Jessica is panicking, chest rising and falling rapidly as they both catch their breath.

Trish strokes Jessica’s hair, bringing her hands to rest on Jessica’s shoulders. She offers a half smile and chuckles, struck by how beautiful Jessica looks flushed, with slightly swollen lips and glassy eyes.

Jessica returns her smile and breaks the silence, “Idiot?”

“Yes,” Trish emphasizes, nodding in earnest.

“How long have you–”

“Ever since I can remember, Jess,” Trish interrupts.

Jessica feels her heart clench, and exhales in surprise. Sliding her hands around Trish’s back, Jessica holds Trish in a loose hug and rests her forehead against Trish’s. Eyes closed, they hold one another and soak in each other’s atmospheres, warm exhales tickling their lips.

Trish licks her lips, and repeats Jessica’s question, eyes still closed in reverence, “How long have _you_ known?”

Jessica lifts her head and looks into Trish’s eyes with a look more vulnerable than Trish has ever seen. Jessica looks more vulnerable than when she found out her family died in the accident, or after waking up from a vivid nightmare of Killgrave wielding her body like a tool. Except this look isn’t bogged down with years of sadness and loss.

“I can’t remember when I didn’t,” Jessica confesses, voice cracking with emotion.

Trish grabs the back of Jessica’s neck and guides her head closer. Lips moving in tandem, they kiss and caress each other with the familiarity of lovers who’ve shared kisses for years, not minutes.

Jessica’s hands drift down Trish’s back, brushing the curve of her ass. Squeezing, she pulls Trish closer so that their bodies are pressed tight against each other.

Trish shifts her hand forward from the back of Jessica’s head to cradle her face, stroking Jessica’s cheek with her thumb.

Dragging her mouth along Jessica’s jaw, Trish delicately kisses her way down Jessica’s neck. Jessica tilts her head back to give Trish more leverage as she kisses and sucks at pale skin there, leaving blooming red marks in her wake. She gasps when Trish kisses her collarbone and lightly brushes against her breast.

Jessica can feel Trish smile against her skin, proud of the reaction she could elicit with light kisses and fleeting touches. 

Wanting to return the favour, Jessica brings her face up towards Trish’s and captures her lips in a heated kiss. With her other hand, Jessica effortlessly picks Trish up, supporting Trish by her ass. Trish instinctively wraps her legs around Jessica’s waist and laces her hands through her hair.

Jessica moves her hand from Trish’s face to sweep the cooking supplies down the counter, and places Trish in their wake. Trish doesn’t release her from between her legs, keeping them wrapped around her waist. She moans at the feeling of Jessica moving between her legs.

Hungry with desire, Jessica brushes Trish’s hair away from her shoulder and plunges into the crook of her neck, kissing every inch of skin she can. Trish moans and grinds herself against Jessica.

Jessica suddenly stops, leaning away from Trish so that her face is in focus. Trish panics, thinking the worst, _"She doesn’t feel this way. I’ve ruined everything and made a fool of myself."_

Instead, Jessica asks, eyes downcast and gesturing at the space between them, “Are you sure? That you want this?”

Jessica glances up to look at Trish, bracing herself for an answer. Trish has never seen Jessica Jones, who challenges assholes in bars to feats of strength and walks around like she owes the world nothing, look so small.

Trish feels like her throat is closing at the thought of not having Jessica at all, let alone as a lover. “This is all I’ve ever wanted,” Trish whispers, her voice thick with emotion.

“Okay,” Jessica replies.

Jessica surges forward, snaking her hands beneath Trish’s shirt and stroking her back, covering Trish’s mouth with her own. Trish grabs the collar of Jessica’s leather coat and roughly pulls it off her shoulders. Still connected at the lips, Jessica straightens out one arm at a time to help Trish haphazardly remove it. They let the jacket fall to the ground, and Trish strokes Jessica’s shoulders and back, enjoying the feeling of her body heat through the thin, grey shirt.

Trish gently brings her hand down to touch Jessica’s breast, feeling her nipple harden through her bra and shirt. Jessica groans and her breath hitches, arching forward to meet Trish’s touch and rock against her.

Jessica grabs the hem of Trish’s silk shirt and begins tugging it upwards. Trish grabs it herself and quickly pulls it, arms crossed, over her head. Jessica’s seen Trish without a shirt on before, but she’s never seen her without a shirt on. Not like this.

She's standing in awe, gaping like a fish, at Trish. She's haloed by her golden hair, which is glowing from the kitchen pot light backlighting her. 

Jessica feels a lump growing in her throat. She's shocked that this is happening to her. Something so good. _Someone_ so good. She can't stop the, “ _Wow_ ,” that slips from her lips.

Trish is smiling coyly, embarrassed by how Jessica is drinking her in. She knows that she is beautiful (her whole career was based around it), but she has never felt so beautiful as when Jessica is looking at her, with laboured breathing, in awe of her. Jessica may feel like she is filled with oozing shit and darkness, but Trish’s smile illuminates every dark corner inside until she is exactly what Trish sees in her.

“What?”

Jessica blinks, zoning out. “Oh sorry. You’re just so— _wow_.”

Trish laces her fingers through Jessica’s belt loops and pulls her in for another kiss. Without breaking the kiss, Trish pulls up the bottom of Jessica’s shirt and slowly lifts it. Jessica lifts her arms to help Trish remove her shirt, and only stops the kiss to let the shirt be pulled over her head.

Immediately diving back into the kiss, Jessica grabs Trish’s ass again and pulls her tight against her body. Trish palms Jessica’s breasts through her bra, Jessica wishing she had put a nicer one on that morning. Trish, however, doesn’t mind or notice, instead relishing at their skin touching and the feel of Jessica’s breasts.

Jessica can’t help but grind against Trish in rhythm with their kiss, steadily increasing in urgency. Trish grabs Jessica’s hands from her ass, dragging them across her hips and placing them on the button of her pants. Jessica fumbles with the button, shaking with nervous energy, before finally managing to unbutton the pants and unzip the fly.

Trish lifts herself off the counter with both her hands to help Jessica remove her pants and swings her body into Jessica’s, once again wrapping herself around Jessica. Trish is no longer sitting on the counter, supported only by Jessica’s considerable strength and reflexes; her hands snapping back to grab Trish’s behind.

" _Of course Trish is wearing matching underwear._ "

Jessica squeezes Trish’s ass, who squeezes her legs more tightly around her middle. She leans forward and places Trish on the counter who jumps at the cold marble. She holds herself at this angle, body still pressed to Jessica’s, by hanging off of Jessica’s neck by her arms. Jessica follows the contours of Trish’s body with her hands, tracing her hands from the curve of Trish’s behind to the swell of her breasts.

Jessica slowly outlines the fabric of Trish’s bra with the tips of her fingers, eliciting squirms and groans from Trish. The lace leads Jessica to the clasp, which she again fumbles with, hands shaking.

Trish smiles against her lips, and arches her back as the fabric falls away. Jessica removes the bar one arm at a time, slowly, and throws it somewhere to her left in the vicinity of the foyer. She lowers her mouth to Trish’s breast and breathes lightly, Trish’s nipple growing even more erect in response. Jessica laps at Trish’s breasts, gently massaging them. Trish arches her back, her blonde hair to falling from her shoulders and rest on her back.

Jessica hand drifts down to touch Trish through her slightly damp underwear.

“I’m not going to break,” Trish murmurs into Jessica’s ear.

In response, Jessica nips at Trish’s collarbone, leaving a stark red mark, and pushes Trish’s underwear aside to circle her clit. Jessica sucks at the pulse point on Trish’s neck and rhythmically pressing on Trish’s clit, feeling her growing wetness.

She kisses her way back up to Trish’s mouth and bites her lip and soothes the marks with her tongue.

“Jess, please,” Trish whimpers into her mouth.

Jessica obliges and inserts two fingers in Trish and presses on her clit with her thumb. Trish’s breath hitches as she surges forward, resting her forehead on Jessica’s shoulder.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Trish whispers, muffled by Jessica’s shoulder.

Jessica pushes harder when she feels Trish thrust against her hand. She kisses the top of Trish’s head and the scar on her upper arm from the People’s Choice award that sliced her it years ago. She shifts the angle of her arm to press deeper into Trish. Jessica’s fingers hit a spot in Trish that has her throwing her head back, eyes shut tight and arching her back in pleasure.

Trish moves faster and frantically against Jessica’s hand, “Jess, don’t stop.”

Jessica peppers her jaw, neck, and breasts with kisses, sucking and licking at the skin. She leaves a trail of more red marks as she increases the rhythm and her fingers curl inside of Trish, her thumb swirling at her clit.

Wetness pools in Jessica’s underwear with each whimper that slips from Trish’s mouth, the feel of Trish quivering around her fingers arousing her more than she’s ever felt before. Trish falls back onto her arms, using the angle to grind against Jessica’s hand and torso.

With Trish’s arms no longer wrapper around her neck, Jessica kisses her way down Trish’s abdomen, dipping her tongue in Trish’s belly button. Trish moans louder the lower Jessica’s kisses get; when Jessica’s tongue makes contact with her clit, Trish slaps her hand over her mouth and moans loudly into it. Jessica’s head buzzes at the sound of Trish’s groans and the taste of her.

Trish says, muffled by her hand, “Take it off.”

Eager to oblige, Jessica tears off Trish’s underwear and drops it on the counter. Without needing to push the fabric out of the way, Jessica takes full advantage of more areas of Trish to suck and kiss.

This is all it takes to push Trish over the edge. Trish removes her hand from her mouth and tangles it through Jessica’s hair, pushing Jessica’s mouth harder against her. Her legs shake, and then she’s coming and bucking against Jessica’s face and clenching around her fingers.

Trish cries out Jessica’s name and pulls on her hair. Jessica hums into Trish, pleased with herself, and doesn’t let up.

When Trish’s legs are sore and she feels spent she mumbles, “Jess, I came.”

Smirking, Jessica continues lazily lapping at Trish’s clit and slowing the pace at which she curls her fingers.

“Jess, come on,” Trish stammers while tugging Jessica’s hair, trying to pull her head up.

Jessica ignores her, and continues.

“Jessica, can we at least go to the bedroom?”

Straightening up, Jessica easily picks Trish up with one hand, two fingers still curling inside her. Trish weakly wraps her legs around Jessica and slowly rocks against her. She starts making her way to the bedroom before Trish cries out, “Wait! The burner!”

Jessica walks towards the kitchen and leans Trish of the stove top. Trish reaches out and turns off the burner, officially abandoning their now burnt dinner.

Pulling Trish against her, Jessica kisses her and nips at her lips playfully. Trish grabs Jessica’s face in both her hands and deepens their kiss, tasting herself on Jessica’s lips. Trish trails one hand down Jessica’s back and expertly unclasps her bra with one hand.

Jessica steps over her jacket, crumpled on the ground, and walks them towards the bedroom. Trish caresses her neck and shoulders before gently massaging Jessica’s breasts beneath the loose fabric of her unclasped bra.

Distracted, Jessica kisses more sloppily and loses the rhythm of fingers inside Trish, but begins circling Trish’s cilt in earnest.

Rocking against Jessica, Trish feels the familiar warmth in her stomach signalling another orgasm. She twists Jessica’s nipple between her forefinger and thumb and bites her lip.

Jessica nearly trips over the threshold of the doorway, so entranced by Trish’s touch. She kisses Trish’s throat, feeling the vibration of Trish’s laugh of pleasure and bliss. When Jessica’s legs hit the end of the bed, she lets them fall onto the bed and straddles Trish’s thigh. Jessica grinds against Trish’s thigh, her own denim clad thigh rubbing against Trish and pushing her hand further forward.

Trish comes again, hard, panting into Jessica’s mouth and digging her nails into Jessica’s back, leaving scratches. This time Jessica stops, wipes her fingers on her jeans and looks at Trish’s flushed, smiling face.

She can’t help the smile that breaks across her face, equal parts proud and pleased with herself. Jessica kisses Trish’s chest, neck, and face until Trish’s breathing slows and she opens her eyes. Trish licks her lips, and with eyes hooded gives Jessica a predatory grin.

“Take off your pants, Jones,” she purrs.

Jaw dropped, eyes wide, and mouth suddenly dry, Jessica unbuttons her own pants, flops onto her back and kicks off her jeans. She finally removes her unclasped bra, unintentionally flinging it across the room when she forgets her strength in excitement. Trish pushes her up the bed with one arm and kneels between her legs.

Sucking at Jessica’s inner thighs, Trish watches Jessica fling her head back, and mouth, “ _Fuck_.”

Trish drapes Jessica’s legs over her shoulders and finally kisses Jessica’s center. She tongues the inside of Jessica and purrs. Closing her eyes, Jessica moans into the crook of her arm. Trish laps at her clit and digs her fingers into Jessica’s thighs. Jessica grabs the sheets in her fists, pulling them so hard that they both hear a tearing sound.

“F-f- _fuck_!” Jessica yells, losing control and tearing the sheets even more.

She bucks against Trish, coming suddenly. Afraid to hurt her, Jessica forces herself not to touch Trish. When Jessica’s legs fall limp and her breathing steadies, Trish stops and crawls up to Jessica and rests on top of her.

Jessica tilts her head back and covers her eyes with one hand. Her other hand curls around Trish’s waist.

“That was embarrassing.”

“What?” Trish asks while lazily tracing shapes on Jessica’s abdomen.

“I was a fucking one-stroke wonder,” Jessica whines.

“Nooooo…” Trish consoles, “It was at least two or three strokes.”

Jessica groans and grimaces, refusing to look at Trish. She grabs Jessica’s chin and turns her head to face her, moving her hand from Jessica’s eyes and holds it, resting their hands on Jessica’s chest.

“Hey, it was perfect,” Trish reassures, “Better than I ever imagined.”

Jessica cocks an eyebrow, “So you’ve imagined it?”

Trish flushes, it’s her turn to be embarrassed. “Uhm, no…”

“Oh my god, you have, haven’t you?”

Trish refuses to answer and kisses Jessica instead. The kiss, slow and languid, until the both run out of breath. 

“It’s ok,” Jessica whispers against Trish’s lips, blushing, “I imagined it too.”

Trish kisses Jessica’s cheek and sighs contently. They lie there silently wrapped around each other until Jessica’s stomach growls loudly.

“I forgot I burned dinner,” Trish laughs.

“Sorry, I had to skip lunch.”

“Chinese?” Trish suggests.

Jessica grunts in response. Trish phones in their usual order and uncharacteristically answers the door and pays the delivery girl in her robe. They eat the food in bed, breaking Trish’s usual rule, but too lazy to move or get dressed. They eat all the food, and Trish throws out the garbage in the kitchen.

Trish crawls back into bed, and they curl around each other, naked. They both struggle to keep their eyes open, determined to drink each other in and make the night last as long as they can. Trish is the first to close her eyes, although not fully asleep. Jessica’s eyes flitter across Trish’s face slowly, taking in her peaceful, tired face.

“I love you, Trish,” she whispers, “I have for a long, long time.”

She presses a kiss to Trish’s temple. Trish smiles, eyes closed, and they slowly drift off to sleep.

  


* * *

  


The next morning, Trish wakes up first. Her muscles are sore, and her arm is asleep where it’s tucked under Jessica. She sluggishly pulls her hand from beneath Jessica and opens and closes her hands a few times to return normal blood flow. Trish turns away from Jessica to look at the alarm clock on the bedside table, realizing she’s late.

“ _Shit!_ ” she cusses her under her breath.

She untangles the rest of herself from beneath Jessica and gets out of bed. Jessica snores softly as she sleeps heavily for once, no nightmares rousing her. Trish quickly, but quietly, dresses and foregoes a shower and morning coffee since she slept in. Before walking out she inspects her neck and notices the many hickeys that decorate it. She quickly changes into a high-collared blouse and artfully wraps a scarf around her neck before leaving the apartment.

Trish’s day goes by in a blur. She is distracted and has a bad show, her thoughts drifting back to her night with Jessica. Anytime anyone tries to talk to her, Trish blushes, feeling like the previous night’s activities are painted on her face. Resigned that she won’t accomplish anything for the rest of the day, Trish leaves early in hope of catching Jessica at her apartment, but mostly expecting Jessica to have fled. 

When Trish returns after work, she trips over a duffle bag in the foyer. She catches herself before falling fully, and turns to look at the foreign object. Trish instantly recognizes the overstuffed duffle bag as Jessica’s and furrows her brow, confused. Trish walks further into her apartment and notices the boxes that litter the way to the kitchen and living room.

Trish smiles to herself, recognizing Jessica’s scrawl on the side of the boxes, labelling her various meagre possessions. She walks into the kitchen to see Jessica with the pan from last night. The food is burnt on and Jessica is scrubbing forcefully at it, trying hard not to break it.

“Thanks for cleaning up.”

“No problem,” Jessica remarks, tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth.

Trish sets her purse down on the counter and asks, “How was work?”

Jessica looks up, “I took the day off to… do some personal things.”

Since Jessica won’t admit she moved in, Trish is reticent to do the same. Trish worries that saying the wrong thing—anything— will scare Jessica away.

“Sounds nice,” Trish smiles, “I’m going to have a quick shower. Then we’ll order in for dinner?”

“Sounds good,” Jessica agrees.

Trish stands under the stream of hot water for a while, soothing her muscles still sore from last night. Trish hears the bathroom door open and the sound of clothes hitting the tile floor. She feels the blast of cold air as the glass shower door slides open.

She feels Jessica wrap her arms around her torso, Jessica’s breasts pressing against her back. Trish can feel Jessica’s nervousness since this is so new; her breath is shallow and laboured and her arms are shaking slightly.

Trish wraps her own arms around Jessica’s and turns her head to kiss Jessica’s shoulder, enjoying the feeling of their naked, wet skin so close.

Humming appreciatively Trish says, eyes closed, “Hmmm. Hi there.”

“Hullo,” Jessica says, voice throaty, and places kisses on Trish’s neck.

They stand silently under the jet of hot water, steaming the glass shower doors and mirror. Jessica breaks the silence suddenly and slightly too loud, her voice reverberating off the bathroom tile, “I love you.”

Trish smiles and spins in Jessica’s arms to face her. “I know.”

Jessica rolls her eyes and looks at Trish, vulnerable and only slightly annoyed.

“I love you too,” Trish concedes, “Obviously.”

Jessica sighs in relief and leans forward into an urgent kiss, “Obviously.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thousand apologies that this took so long, but hopefully the smut makes up for it??? Thank you for all the kudos and comments. Guess I'm going to have to keep doing this writing fanfic thing! I'm super behind in ~~all aspects of life~~ replying to comments, but I'll do that asap. Also once again thanks to [@mayacricket](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mayacricket) for the beta and for listening to me talking about Trishica 24/7.


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